Here on Earth
by YT1
Summary: It's true what they say: you can never go home again. A month after their return to Federation space, the members of Voyager's crew find that they face personal challenges as difficult as the dangers of the Delta Quadrant. *Finished at last!*
1. Introduction

Here On Earth

A _Voyager_ fanfic by YT

The _Star Trek_ universe, and all the things and characters therein, belong to Paramount.  I'm just borrowing the story for a while.

Aside from a glimpse at the future in the final episodes of the _Voyager_ series, and an appearance by Admiral Kathryn Janeway in _Nemesis_, the makers of _Star Trek_ give us few clues about "life after the Delta Quadrant."  _Here On Earth_, which is set a month after _Voyager'_s return to the Alpha Quadrant, is a collection of vignettes about the crew's efforts to adjust after their homecoming.

1) The Doctor – _Strange New World_

2) Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres – _Settling Down_

3) Chakotay and Seven of Nine – _Skin Deep_

4) Tuvok – _The Other Half_

5) Kathryn Janeway – _The Big Goodbye_

6) Harry Kim – _Something to Celebrate_

Each story is self-contained, and though they take place in the _Voyager_ universe in the order in which they are listed above, you can read them in whichever order you choose.  I've tried to write these stories in accordance with the canon, although I also had to make up a few things – the names and ages of Tuvok's children, for instance.  Please correct me if I got something wrong, and I'll be glad to fix it.

That said, I hope you enjoy the following stories as much as I have enjoyed the _Voyager_ series.

They only see the prize, their heart's desire, their dream…But the price of getting what you want, is getting what once you wanted.

                                                -- Morpheus,  _A Midsummer Night's Dream,_ by Neil Gaiman


	2. The Doctor : Strange New World

The Doctor – _Strange New World_

            The Doctor stepped forward as the doors hissed open.  He stood in the doorway for a few moments, taking a good first look at what was now his living room.  The large square room was simply but comfortably furnished, graced with a kitchenette (equipped with a replicator) and storage closet set in the wall on his right.  The left wall consisted mostly of a set of sliding glass doors that led out onto the balcony – the glass was clear right now, allowing him a view of the clear blue sky and some of the gardens and residence buildings of the Starfleet Academy Campus outside, but with the touch of a button the glass could be rendered opaque.  Doors in the far wall led to the bedroom and bathroom.

            He walked slowly through the door and adjusted the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder.  The doors slid closed behind him.  He looked around the room again, not quite sure what to do next.  "Well," he said to nobody in particular, an obviously artificial brightness evident in his voice, "This is nice."

            It was also absolutely ridiculous.  He didn't _need_ quarters.  The bed, the replicator, the bathroom, were designed to fulfill needs he did not have.  An office would be enough, he'd told the Academy administrators.  He'd been content with that much personal space on _Voyager_, and he didn't need anything more.  But they'd insisted on giving him living quarters: all Academy faculty who did not already have some residence near the campus were provided with living quarters.  They weren't going to make an exception for him just because he was a hologram.

            Just standing where he was made the Doctor feel awkward, so he put his duffel bag on the gray sofa by the glass-topped coffee table and walked up to the sliding glass doors.  He pulled them open and stepped out onto the balcony.  A soft breeze was blowing, rippling leaves and grass in the quadrangle garden four stories below and making the flowers in their beds sway gently on their stalks.  The Doctor wished that he could smell those flowers, but he was not equipped with a sense of smell.  There was no technology available that could give him that – at least, not yet.

            He certainly had a lovely view from this balcony, but even so he would gladly do without this apartment if he had the opportunity.  They were patronizing him.  Trying too hard to make him feel comfortable.  It was just making things that much more difficult.

            _Being patronized is better than being permanently deactivated,_ he thought to himself.  After two weeks of tests and debates, as well as a great deal of support from _Voyager's_ crew, a panel of judges appointed by Starfleet Command had declared him a sentient being and a Federation citizen, with all the rights and privileges that status entailed.  Luckily, there was already a legal precedent for such a case, or it might have taken much longer.  Those weeks of waiting for a verdict had been difficult, to say the least.  If he'd been human it would have been even worse – his anxiety would have been accompanied by increased levels of adrenaline, sleeplessness, a loss of appetite, moderate gastrointestinal distress…perhaps it would have caused him to have a nervous breakdown.  But then again, if he'd been human he wouldn't have had any cause for anxiety in the first place.

            Maybe he should start unpacking.  He had few material possessions, and most of those had been used to decorate his office in Starfleet Medical Center.  But there were some other things, little pictures and mementos that he had not wanted to put in his office.  He left the balcony and went back into the living room, walked over to the couch and unzipped his duffel bag.

            He had thought about signing up for a tour of duty on a new starship, or a post on a space station or a colony.  Instead he had taken Captain Janeway's suggestion that he stay on Earth for a while, and applied for a position at Starfleet Academy Medical School.  When the next term started he would be teaching a course in advanced exobiology.  A most fitting occupation, considering the nature of his experience.

            Now he was regretting his decision.  He was dreading the day when he would step into the lecture hall, look out over the sea of faces and wonder whether they saw him as a professor to be taken seriously or just an obsolete EMH program, a joke or an insult.  What if they protested?  What if they wouldn't accept him as a teacher?

            The Doctor took out the little hand-stitched pillow Naomi Wildman had made for him.  It was blue and black with silver trim, to match the color scheme of his uniform.  She'd made a little pillow for each member of the senior staff, including Seven, as a good-bye present.  He forgot his worries for a moment and smiled.  At least _Voyager_'s crew treated him like a real person, with respect and sincerity that he had encountered little of on Earth…

            That made him worried again.  It had taken him a great deal of time and effort to earn the status of a "real person" on the ship.  At the outset he hadn't really been bothered by it, since he had not been quite self-aware.  But at some point, he had become some_one_ instead of some_thing_, to himself as well as the rest of the crew.  Their view of him had changed with his own view of himself.  Now, though, he thought of himself as a person, and he was encountering many people who had trouble treating him like one.  He was painfully aware of the fact that, while he had convinced a slew of psychologists, technicians, politicians and a high court that he was worthy of personhood, there were still countless people who would believe otherwise and might never change their minds.

            He sat down on the couch, gripping Naomi's little pillow in his hands.  He was facing an uncertain future, one that was in its own way as challenging and perilous as the journey that _Voyager_ had taken through the Delta Quadrant.  One of the first things he had to do was choose a name: he couldn't really put it off any longer.  He'd have to make new friends among the other professors in the medical school.  Then there was the syllabus for the course he would be teaching.  And – he frowned at the dull gray couch – if he _was_ going to have his own quarters, he might as well decorate them tastefully.

            The Doctor put Naomi's little pillow in the corner of the couch and stood up.  Then he started looking around in the duffel bag again.  He found himself humming the opening act from _The Magic Flute_.  That was another thing he had to do, see a real opera performance.  He could hardly wait.

            The next object he took from the duffel bag was a holophoto of _Voyager_'s senior staff that had been taken three weeks ago, just a few days after their arrival in the Alpha Quadrant.  He smiled brightly and placed the holophoto _just so_ on the coffee table.  The room was starting to look better already.


	3. Tom and B'Elanna : Settling In

Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres – _Settling Down_

            "Tom, how much longer will it be before I get to see this 'surprise' of yours?"  B'Elanna had spent the last twenty minutes blindfolded while Tom flew her and baby Miral to some unspecified location in a hovercraft.  She was starting to get agitated.

            "Just a couple more minutes," Tom assured her from the pilot's seat to her left.  B'Elanna felt the craft swing into a right turn and begin a slow descent to the ground.

            "This had better be good," she warned her husband.  She didn't like being left in the dark, figuratively or, as in this situation, literally.

            "Trust me," Tom said, a grin evident in his voice, "You'll like it.  And…here we are!"  The hovercraft's engines powered down, and B'Elanna heard the driver and passenger doors lift up.  A breeze came in through the open doors, carrying the faint scent of leaves and the twittering of birds.  She felt more than heard Tom rise from his seat and climb out of the craft.  Then she heard the sound his feet crunching on leaves and twigs as he walked around the front of the craft.

            "Just let me get Miral," he said as he went to the back door.  B'Elanna sighed impatiently as he unbuckled the baby from her seat.  Then at last he came to her door and took her hand to help her out of the craft.  She stepped carefully out of the door, feeling and hearing the crunch of leaves beneath the soles of her shoes.

            "Here, you take Miral," Tom said as he carefully handed the baby to B'Elanna.  "I'll need both hands to take the blindfold off."

            "Finally," B'Elanna muttered as she held her daughter in the crook of her arm.  Now she'd get to see what this was all about.

            Tom took her by the shoulders and gently turned her about ninety degrees to the right.  "Okay…"  B'Elanna felt his hands undoing the knot of the blindfold at the back of her head.  When he had the knot untied he held the blindfold in place for a moment, building the suspense, and then with a triumphant "_Ta-da!_"  he whipped it off her eyes.

            B'Elanna couldn't believe her eyes for a moment.  "Tom," she said, in an awed whisper, "You got us a _house?_"

            It was a two-story cottage whose gray stone walls were festooned with ivy.  Two chimneys sprouted from the shingle-covered roof.  The front yard was almost completely covered with beds of flowers, except for the flagstone front walk that connected the leaf-dusted dirt road they were standing on.  If there were any other buildings nearby, B'Elanna couldn't see them – the house was screened in by a profusion of trees.

            She felt tears welling up in her eyes.  "It's beautiful," she said.  Tom came to stand by her side and put an arm around her shoulder.  She smiled up at him.  "Thank you."

            He grinned.  "Actually, you can thank my dad.  This used to be the Paris family summer house, but he gave it to us.  He said that if I was finally starting to behave responsibly, he would do everything he could to encourage me."

            B'Elanna gave him a skeptical look.  "He didn't _really_ say that, did he?"

            Tom waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture.  "No, of course not!  But I think that's why he gave it to us."  He looked at the house and sighed, his levity clouded over with concern for just a moment.  Then his smile returned, and he looked at B'Elanna affectionately.  "But, whatever his reasons were, I'm glad he did it.  After all, if I'm going to settle down, I'll need all the help I can get, right?"

            B'Elanna was about to make a teasing reply, but she realized from the way he'd said those words that, while he hadn't been quite serious, he hadn't exactly been joking, either.  There was an edge of fear to his words that he hadn't quite managed to cover up with his usual joviality.  B'Elanna turned to face Tom and adjusted her hold on Miral so she'd have a free hand to put on her husband's shoulder.  "Hey," she said softly, "You piloted _Voyager_ through the Delta Quadrant.  I think you can handle a little domestic responsibility."

            Tom chuckled, but it sounded forced.  "I know how to pilot a starship…"  Then he looked down at Miral slumbering peacefully in B'Elanna's arms, and put a gentle finger on her chin.  "…But I don't know how to be a father."

            There was an uncomfortable pause while B'Elanna tried to think of something to say.  "I don't know much about being a parent either," she admitted.  "But we'll do what we've always done: figure something out.  It may not be like piloting a starship or fixing a warp core, but with some ingenuity and a little luck…"  She trailed off, not quite knowing how to conclude.

            It was a great relief to her when the smile returned to Tom's face.  "…we just might make it," he finished for her.  "You know," he said conspiratorially as he put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close, "I think we might even enjoy it."

            "I'm sure we will," B'Elanna agreed.  She kissed him for a few moments, but had to draw back when Miral woke up and started fussing.  "Hmm.  I think someone's hungry," she observed.

            "Then let's go into the house so 'someone' can have her lunch," Tom suggested as he steered B'Elanna to the flagstone pathway.  "And then I'll give you both the grand tour.  How does that sound?"

            "Absolutely perfect," B'Elanna replied with absolute sincerity as they stepped up onto the front stoop.  Miral's fussing had developed into full-fledged wailing.  She wasn't a very patient child.

            Tom opened the door and gestured for her to go in first.  "After you," he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the baby's protestations.

            With a smile and a curious feeling of mingled joy and anxiety, B'Elanna stepped through the front door into her new house and her new life.


	4. Chakotay and Seven of Nine : Skin Deep

_A Note from the Author:_  Sorry this took so long.  The basic premise for this particular story inspired me to write this collection, but the actual execution was more difficult than I thought.  I had to restart it three times before I could get it right, and I'm still not sure I managed to say everything I wanted to say, but on the whole it turned out all right. 

And yes, I think Chakotay should have ended up with Janeway and Seven with the Doctor.  My biggest problem with the series is that the creators made such a good pair with Tom and B'Elanna but just totally screwed up the other possible romantic relationships.  But I'm not going to split them up, because they actually _do_ make a good couple, even if most of the series had us expecting something totally different and…ahem.  Okay, I'll stop ranting now.  Just enjoy the story.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chakotay and Seven of Nine – _Skin Deep_

            Chakotay sighed and shifted his position in the chair.  He had expected to wait only a quarter of an hour, but he'd been sitting here for twice that long.  Even a thorough medical scan shouldn't take more than ten minutes…

            He stood up and started pacing.  Somehow the waiting wasn't so bad when he was in motion.  He had just completed one circuit of the waiting room when he was startled by the opening of the medical lab door.

            Seven of Nine stopped in the doorway and blinked at him once, then smiled.  "Chakotay.  I did not expect to see you."  She took a step toward him.  "But I'm glad you came."

            "I just thought I'd surprise you.  How did it go?"  The two of them fell into step beside each other and walked out of the waiting room into the corridor beyond.

            Seven's neutral expression became one of slight frustration.  "Doctor Mangian felt the need to perform several types of scans.  She said that it will take her a few days to prepare for the procedure."  She and Chakotay moved closer to the wall to allow a lab technician pushing an antigrav cart full of tissue samples room to pass by.  Then they resumed their course for the building's exit.

            "I think she's just being careful," Chakotay surmised.  "It'll be the first time anyone's ever tried it.  She doesn't want to make a mistake."

            "I understand the need for caution," Seven said, lowering her eyes.  "But it is still…difficult."  After a thoughtful moment, she raised her eyes again to look at the corridor ahead, as if she had never made the admission at all.

            They came to a turbolift door, which opened smoothly as they approached closer to it.  "Ground floor," Chakotay said as they stepped into the lift.  The door closed behind them and the lift began its smooth descent.

            Seven stood with her feet slightly apart, her hands linked behind her back and her eyes fixed on the wall before her, as she always did when riding in a turbolift.  But somehow Chakotay could sense that she was feeling uneasy – maybe even anxious.

            "Having second thoughts?" he asked.  The question seemed to startle her out of a reverie – which was strange, because she almost never indulged in reverie or idle speculation.  She'd said as much, on many occasions.

            "No," she answered firmly.  "I am sure."  The turbolift halted, the doors slid open, and the two of them walked out into the lobby of Starfleet Medical Center, headed for the exit doors.

            "It's just that you seem a little nervous," Chakotay explained.

            The reply was just a little too late in coming.  "I am not nervous.  Doctor Mangian is one of the best doctors in Starfleet.  The procedure involves very little risk."  She didn't sound as if she were trying to reassure herself by saying the words.  Something else was bothering her.

            They went through the double set of outer doors and into the warm spring day outside.  At the bottom of the entrance ramp they turned left, following the walk to the nearest Trans Francisco station.  "I can tell something's bothering you," Chakotay said quietly.  "It might help you to talk about it."

            He wasn't sure how to interpret the look she gave him, or the thoughtful silence that followed.  The sound of their shoes on the footpath suddenly seemed much too loud.

            "I…the doctor informed me that there is a twenty percent chance that the nanosurgical procedure will be unsuccessful," Seven said finally, just a touch of her anxiety coming out in her voice.  "She may not be able to reconfigure my implants."  No wonder she was uneasy.  Her anxiety about this procedure was an extension of, and addition to, a greater anxiety that she had been living with for the past month.

Seven was having a difficult time adjusting to life on Earth, where most people were not as accepting of her as the _Voyager_ crew had been.  Even on board the ship, Seven's status as a former Borg had often put her at an uncomfortable distance from the people she worked with.  In the greater world of the Delta Quadrant, she had encountered discrimination, fear, disgust, and sometimes even open hostility.  But because she spent most of her time among the people of _Voyager_, where she did not encounter such harsh attitudes, she had not been extremely troubled by her ambiguous nature, no longer Borg but not quite human either.  Or, if she had been troubled, she had mostly kept it to herself in her particular way.

Now the small world of _Voyager_ had more or less ceased to exist.  The members of the crew were finding that the process of readjusting to the Alpha Quadrant was not as easy as they had thought.  It was much harder on Seven, who had been something of a misfit on _Voyager_ and found herself dangerously close to being a pariah here.  Though Seven tried very hard to act as if she wasn't bothered by it, Chakotay knew her well enough to see how much it grated on her.  It hurt her – and him, when he saw it happen – every time someone looked at her strangely, or shied away from her, or studiously ignored her, because of what she was.  And all those things happened with alarming frequency.  Icheb, who was planning to attend Starfleet Academy at the beginning of the next academic term, was having similar problems.

Even as he was thinking these thoughts, a pair of passing cadets gave Seven a suspicious glance.  One of them whispered something to the other, and they quickened their pace a little so as to get away from her.  She didn't give them a second look, but she tensed a little.  Chakotay took her hand, which seemed to give her some comfort.

Although the doctor on _Voyager_ had been able to remove most of Seven's Borg implants and modify some of the remaining ones so that they were completely integrated into her living tissue and invisible to the naked eye, he had not been able to make her look completely human: he could not have done so without crippling her or perhaps even putting her life in jeopardy.  She'd just had to live with them.  But now she had another option.  While _Voyager_ had been in the Delta Quadrant, a team of researchers at Starfleet Medical had developed an advanced type of medical nanite, and new algorithms for coordinating teams of them to perform especially delicate reconstructive surgeries.  The doctor – _Voyager_'s doctor, who was now a professor on the Starfleet Medical staff – had told her about the new technology.  With the help of careful research and a little luck, a pioneering team of Starfleet's best surgeons would design a nanosurgery program that would modify Seven's systems in a way that conventional medical technology could not.  Over the course of several treatments, the nanites would redistribute her implants throughout her bone and tissue, integrating them seamlessly with her body and eliminating any visible sign that she had once been a Borg.  The same technique could be used to modify Icheb's implants - that is, if it worked.

They walked the rest of the way to the Starfleet HQ Trans Francisco station in silence.  There was a train at the platform, but it departed just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, leaving the station empty of people other than themselves.  Chakotay sighed.  "Looks like we'll have to wait for the next one," he said resignedly.  The two of them walked to the nearest bench and sat down.

After a few seconds spent staring at the platform on the opposite side of the tracks, Seven looked at Chakotay and asked, "If it does not work…what will I do?"

Chakotay could not understand exactly what it was that made her question so unsettling.  Maybe it was the way she said it.  He looked down at his feet and tried to think of an answer, but he could not come up with one.  "I don't know," he admitted.

He looked up again and met Seven's eyes.  The two of them exchanged a brief glance before she returned to her contemplation of the opposite platform and he to looking at his feet.  Then he looked at her again.  "But whatever happens," he assured her, putting his hand over hers, "I'll help you.  I'm not going anywhere."

When she turned to him again, he could see the shine of tears in her eyes.  "Then I am confident that I will adapt," she declared in a perfectly steady voice.  Then, a few moments later: "Thank you."  She didn't quite manage to keep the quaver out of her words this time.

Chakotay was about to reply when they were both startled by the soft whine of an approaching train coming from the tunnel to the left.  They both stood up, and Seven quickly and discreetly wiped away her half-formed tears as the train slowed to a stop at the platform.  The doors opened into a car that was practically bursting of people.  For most of them this was their final stop, so Seven and Chakotay had to push against the flow of human (and Bolian, and Vulcan, and Bajoran) traffic to get into the car.  Luckily the mass migration out onto the platform meant that there were plenty of empty seats, and they took a pair near the back of the car.

Perhaps, Chakotay thought, this would be a good time to change the subject of conversation to something more trivial.  "Maybe we should get off at the Haight Street station," he suggested.  "There's a little café near there that I used to like when I was a cadet."

Seven blinked at him, her expression displaying a mix of surprise and curiosity.  "I have never been to a café before," she said thoughtfully.

Chakotay smiled.  "Well, I'll be glad to treat you to your first lunch at one."

The speakers in the car chimed, warning that the train was about to depart.  Then the doors slid closed, and the train pulled out of the station and went on its way.


	5. Tuvok : The Other Half

Tuvok – _The Other Half_

Stardate 55171.6

17th Day of Ko'rek, 1256 A.E.

            I am somewhat unsettled by the fact that, though I returned to Vulcan a month ago, I have not yet completely adjusted to being home.  While it is reasonable that a return after seven years' absence should be followed by a long period of readjustment, I did not anticipate that mine would be quite so long, or so difficult, as it has been and may yet be.  I have heard it said that a return to familiar things, changed by the passage of many years, is harder than a venture into completely foreign territory.  Although I was skeptical of this statement when I first heard it, I now understand it to be true.

            The family I returned to is not the same one I left behind.  Joren, who was just completing his university studies when I began serving as _Voyager's_ security chief, is now the assistant of a prominent historian at the Archives.  Kel'tu was having some difficulty with his studies in secondary school, but he is now studying engineering at Starfleet Academy: Payek, who I remembered as a mischievous boy, is almost an adult.  And Mikar, a frail infant when I departed seven years ago, is now a healthy and precocious young girl.  It is unfortunate that I could not be there to see my children grow, and that it was necessary for T'Pel to raise them on her own.  But there is no point in regretting those events that I could not control.  I can only try to make amends in the present.

            It has been difficult to reestablish a relationship with my children, especially Mikar.  She was too young to remember me when I left, and so she initially saw me as a stranger.  Now she is more accustomed to me, but she does not seem to think of me as her father yet.  That will, of course, take some time.

            I have managed at least to earn her friendship by relating to her my experiences in the Delta Quadrant.  While telling my daughter stories has helped a great deal to form a bond between us, it has also caused a problem.  Mikar has developed a puzzling fascination with Mr. Neelix, and she often demands that I tell her more about him or, failing that, that I recount to her some story of him that she has already heard.  She has also expressed the desire to meet him, although she is aware that such a meeting is all but impossible.

            At first I thought that I should discourage her interest because of the uneasy relationship I had with Mr. Neelix.  First, while we did eventually come to an understanding, the amicability of our relationship was always quite clearly one-sided.  Second, I do not think that he would be a good example for my daughter to follow.  But upon further reflection, I realized that it would not be prudent to discredit him in that fashion.  That Mr. Neelix so tried my patience was due as much to my own faults as his overabundant ebullience.  Despite the fact that he proved himself to be of great value to _Voyager_'s crew on several occasions shortly after he came aboard, my initial impression of him led me to feel toward him a contempt that lasted much longer than it should have.  I regret that I was too close-minded to see his merits until my attitude made him upset, and that I did not respect him as he respected me.  I never gave him credit for his attempts to befriend me, despite the way I treated him, and I will never be able to tell him so.

            I have decided that I do not want my daughter to have cause for such regrets in the future, so I intend to teach her in childhood that which I learned with great difficulty – and even, I admit, reluctance – in adulthood.  She should not automatically dismiss those who do not think or behave in the same way that she does, as was my habit for so long.  She will find, as I did, that one person's self-control and logical patterns of thought are often complemented well by another's emotionality and intuition, and that she should consider carefully the value of ideas developed by methods other than her own.  Instead of simply using non-Vulcan values as an example of what she should not be, she should use them as a counterweight.

            Mikar is too young to understand such advice now, but when she is ready I will impart it to her.  Though my exile in the Delta Quadrant caused us both a great loss, my experiences during that time have proved a benefit to me, and they may yet do so for her.  I hope, as every parent does, that I can learn enough from my own mistakes to keep her from making them.

            And, whatever situation Mr. Neelix may be in, I wish him well.

_A Note from the Author:_  Okay, so Tuvok's on Vulcan, which isn't on Earth or even within transporter range of it, but I couldn't very well leave him out because of that little technicality, especially since he's my favorite character on the series.  I will also have to ask you to excuse me for guessing at some things and just plain making up some others, but it was necessary: from the series, the _Star Trek Encyclopedia_ and his biographical information on Startrek.com, I know that Tuvok's wife is named T'Pel and that he has three sons and a daughter.  From his reference to his own children in _Innocence_, I gathered that his youngest son was only a child when he left, although his exact age was not given.  Other than that I have no information on his family, so I could only extrapolate.  First, I guessed that his daughter is the youngest of the children, and so she would have been only an infant when Tuvok first became an officer on _Voyager._  For obvious reasons, I figured that the births of his children would have been spaced seven years apart, so that when he returned home the eldest of his children would be in his late twenties, the second-eldest in his early twenties, the third in his teenage years, and the last would be a small child of seven or eight.  Some of the other things, such as the Vulcan calendar date at the beginning of the journal entry and the names of Tuvok's children, come out of my imagination.  Please alert me if there are any discrepancies, and I will be glad to fix them. 


	6. Kathryn Janeway : The Big Goodbye

Kathryn Janeway – _The Big Goodbye_

            Kathryn Janeway couldn't shake the feeling that she was sitting by a dear friend's deathbed, waiting for the last breath, wanting the loss as much as she wanted to keep clinging.

            But she wasn't waiting by a deathbed.  She was walking the corridors of her ship, as she had done so many times over the past seven years.  Now, though, her pace was not the purposeful stride of a captain on her way to some certain destination, but a slow, meandering ramble that was punctuated now and again by a stop to look out a nearby viewport, or to choose which way to turn at a given junction – or, sometimes, for no particular reason at all.  Every step she took was heavy with the feeling of _never again_.

            The ship was empty but for herself and a few Starfleet technicians finishing up their work, downloading the last of the data from the computers and beginning the work of removing _Voyager_'s warp drive.  In another few weeks the ship would become an orbital museum, a testament to its long journey and its crew – as well as its captain, who didn't really like the idea of having a memorial dedicated to her achievements while she was still alive.  While she was not entirely comfortable with the situation, she did take some measure of comfort from the knowledge that _Voyager_ would be transformed into a memorial, instead of being decommissioned and dismantled as most ships were once they had reached the end of their lifespan.

            Janeway's own fate was less certain than that of her ship.  Now that the overwhelming deluge of celebrations, debriefings and interviews that had followed _Voyager_'s return to Earth was finally letting up, she was faced with the more serious and long-term consequences of her homecoming.  The legal problems faced by certain members of her crew – the former Maquis and the Doctor – had come to a satisfactory end, but her own troubles were just beginning.  During the past seven years she'd done some things that could be charitably called bending the rules: she had decided upon those questionable courses of action only when there were no better alternatives, but she would still have to answer for her command decisions in a court-martial.  And even if she was acquitted…what then?  She would be a captain without a ship, and she couldn't see herself on the bridge of any ship other than _Voyager_.

            She'd been trying to get home for so long, and now that she was here everything seemed to be falling down around her ears.  It was funny, in a bitter kind of way.

            If she had nothing to look forward to in the long term, at least she had something good coming in the short term.  Tomorrow she and her senior staff would gather for their last meal together in the ship's mess hall – it was their own way of celebrating the end of the long journey they had taken.  While they had been the focus of many Starfleet-organized commemorative events during the past month, the senior staff of _Voyager_ felt that they needed to acknowledge the significance of their journey, as well as the end of it.  That need was something that only they could really understand.

            Janeway was taking advantage of her last opportunity to visit all the places aboard her ship that had been so significant to her over the last seven years – she had already been to engineering, the mess hall, cargo bay two, sickbay, the conference room and her own quarters.  Engineering had been filled with people she didn't know, techs assigned to work on the ship's systems – the other places had felt eerily empty, especially the mess hall.

            Now there was only one more place to visit.  The turbolift doors opened as Janeway approached.  She stepped through and pivoted on her heel as they closed, automatically assuming an "at-ease" position as she faced the exit.  "Bridge," she ordered.  She felt the lift hum and begin to move.  Out of the corner of her eye she watched the indicator lights flow downward.  For some reason she had expected the ride to feel as if it took longer than it usually did – but it didn't.  The doors swished open to reveal _Voyager_'s bridge.

            Janeway stepped forward and took in the empty bridge with a careful, deliberate gaze.  She walked around behind the Ops and Security stations, brushing her fingers over the darkened controls at each – all ship's functions were now being monitored by a few techs in engineering.  She moved down to the conn station and leaned on it, her eyes on the blank gray of the main viewscreen before her.  She straightened up and turned around, slowly, then walked up to the captain's chair, at the heart of the now-deserted bridge.  With a sigh, she settled into the familiar seat.

            If she'd had any good reasons for revisiting _Voyager_, she had forgotten them.  Her nostalgic tour through the ship had not given her any comfort – on the contrary, it had only made her feel worse.  She stood up from her chair and headed for the turbolift, but stopped when she realized that she hadn't visited her ready room yet.  For a few seconds she remained where she was, debating whether or not the stop would be worth it.  _Might as well_, she concluded.  _After all, I'm already here_.  After making that decision turned to her right and walked through the door into the ready room.

            She paused in the doorway and looked over the room for a few moments, as she had the bridge, before stepping forward and letting the door close behind her.  Then she directed her attention viewports on the opposite wall of the room.  Outside was not the star-filled black of space, but the gleaming white wall of the docking port of Spacedock.  Janeway could see a line of windows in that wall – on the other side of it, tiny figures worked at consoles in a control room.  She wondered if they could see her through her own ship's viewports.  They didn't seem to take any notice of her at all.

            Janeway made a slow circuit around the ready room, pausing to run her hand over the top of her desk.  As she regarded her dim reflection in the polished surface she remembered something that Admiral Janeway, her future self, had said a month and another lifetime ago – _Voyager_ had been turned into a museum in that timeline, too, and she'd told the curator that if he wanted to make the ready room _really_ authentic, he should always leave a steaming pot of coffee on the desk.  Captain Janeway didn't doubt that Admiral Janeway had actually made that suggestion – it was the kind of thing she would do – but she was unsure as to whether it had been a flippant request or an earnest one.  She hadn't asked.

            But she was certainly going to ask that the curators put a fresh pot of coffee, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, on the ready room desk.  It would make this place less like a museum exhibit and more like a re-creation.  She was sure that the rest of the crew would have their own suggestions to make, ideas about how they wanted to be remembered.  They would remember _Voyager_ for the rest of their days, but the ship would also remember them.  And some future visitors to this ship would do just what she had done today, touring through the ship to try and recapture a sense of its past…

            With that realization came a deep sense of contentment.  _Voyager_ meant something, and would mean something, even to those who had not journeyed aboard it in the Delta Quadrant.  The long-term future for Kathryn Janeway might not be determined yet, but in the _very_ long term, she had no doubts.

            She went over to the replicator near the desk.  The controls were still lit, so it probably hadn't been taken offline yet.  Janeway punched a certain sequence of glowing rectangles, and a thermos of black coffee materialized in the replicator's cubby.  She removed the thermos from the cubby and unscrewed the top.  With a satisfied nod, she placed the thermos on her desk, and smiled as she inhaled the aroma of the steam that rose from it.


	7. Harry Kim : Something to Celebrate

Harry Kim – _Something to Celebrate_

            Harry Kim ran his finger over the new rank insignia on his collar for the umpteenth time that day while he waited for the turbolift to reach its destination.  Even he didn't know why he kept doing it – perhaps because the full reality of his promotion to Lieutenant Commander hadn't quite sunk in yet.  Well, it would soon enough, when he went on his duty assignment.  The turbolift stopped and the door opened onto deck two.  Kim stepped out and headed for the mess hall, feeling uncomfortable at the emptiness of the corridor.

            He hadn't told the others about his new duty assignment or the promotion that went with it.  Instead he had saved it for a surprise at tonight's ceremonial dinner.  He couldn't wait to see the expression on Tom's face…

            When he stepped through the door to the mess hall he took a quick look to see who was sitting at the long food-laden table near the viewports.  There were chairs for eight: five of them were occupied.  Captain Janeway had not taken a place at the head of the table, but was instead seated next to Chakotay.  To his other side was Seven of Nine, who was dressed in a science officer's uniform merited by her recently attained commission .  Across from Janeway sat Tuvok, with the Doctor beside him.  Tom and B'Elanna hadn't arrived yet.  Kim was a little disappointed at that, but he was also glad that he wasn't the last person to arrive – although this was an informal social gathering between friends, he felt embarrassed to be late.  The problem with the transporter hadn't been any fault of his, but that knowledge didn't make him feel any better about it.

            Janeway, sitting with her back to the viewports and seated towards the nearer end of the table, was the first to notice him.  She smiled and got to her feet, prompting everyone else to turn and give him their full attention.  "Harry!" she greeted him enthusiastically, "Come on and sit down.  We'll start as soon as Tom and B'Elanna get here."  She gestured to indicate that he should take a seat next to the Doctor and balance out the number of people on each side of the table.

            "Sorry I'm late, Captain," he apologized as he headed for the table, "But there was a problem with the…"

            Captain Janeway waved dismissively.  "It's all right, Harry.  After all, this is dinner," she reminded him with a grin, "Not a duty shift."

            Kim chuckled at her words, but the feeling of good humor was quickly overcome by a feeling of almost overwhelming sadness, from the knowledge that his next captain would probably never be his friend as Janeway was – and even if he _did_ manage to develop a friendship with his future commanding officer, it would not be nearly as deep as this one.  But he didn't give voice to his feelings: he just took his seat next to the Doctor.

            It was the Doctor who first noticed his new rank insignia.  "Mr. Kim!  You didn't tell us you got a promotion!"  Kim was aware of four pairs of eyes turning to focus on him.

            He felt obligated to provide an explanation.  "I start as operations officer on the _U.S.S. Athena_ in three weeks," he said.  Kim smiled.  "Don't tell Tom.  I want to surprise him."  That got a smile out of most of the audience – with the exceptions of Tuvok and Seven.

            Seven nodded at him.  "Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant Commander Kim."

            "It has a nice ring to it," Chakotay remarked.  "But isn't it a little soon for you to be going on another tour of duty?"

            Kim had known that someone was going to ask that question, and he had already spent hours trying to come up with a good answer before he finally cooked up something satisfactory.  "Assignments on _Sovereign_-class starships don't grow on trees," he said.  "And I don't want to sit behind a desk on Earth."  After a pause, he added, "Exploring is kind of a tough habit to break."

            It was more than that, really.  The post aboard the _Athena_ was the sort of thing he'd had in mind when he'd gone to Starfleet Academy – a dream come true, and one that could eventually lead to command of his own ship.  And, though he would never admit it, he found that the rock and soil of Earth was not nearly as stable beneath his feet as was a starship deck.  He couldn't get used to looking out the window and seeing the horizon on a daily basis.  Earth had quickly gone from comfortable and familiar to confining and chafing.

            Kim had felt better after getting the assignment to the _Athena_, but not as good as he had expected.  Seven years ago the post would have been his dream come true, but somehow the prospect of being a senior officer on a starship in the Alpha Quadrant paled in comparison to being an ensign on _Voyager_.  It was completely irrational, but he couldn't help it.  His situation turned that saying about reigning in Hell and serving in Heaven right on its head.

            _Stop thinking about it,_ he scolded himself.  _You're supposed to be having a good time with your friends._   He was concentrating so hard on controlling his thoughts that he was startled when the mess hall doors opened to admit Paris and Torres (she could never be "Mrs. Paris" to Kim).

            The Captain greeted them with as much enthusiasm as she had done with Kim a few minutes before.  None of them made a mention of the couple's tardiness in arriving – having a new baby made that sort of delay inevitable.

            "How's Miral doing?" Janeway asked as the two of them took their places at table – Paris next to Kim and Torres beside Seven on the opposite side of the table.

            Torres smiled.  "She's doing well.  But I never thought that a baby could have such a big appetite…"  Her eyes flicked to the Doctor, and she held up a hand as if to forestall him.  "Please – don't tell me that's common among Klingon infants."

            "I wasn't going to," the Doctor assured her, sounding a little miffed.

            Kim turned to talk to Paris.  "So, Tom…how are you enjoying fatherhood so far?"

            "Well," he began, "So far it's…" his voice faltered and he did a doubletake at Kim's collar.  The expression on his face was even better than what Kim had anticipated – he couldn't help but grin.

            Paris shook his head.  "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but…well, congratulations."  He seemed, for once, to be lost for words.

            Tuvok spoke up from the other end of the table.  "Now that we are all present, we should begin."

            "Of course," Janeway agreed.  She took a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket standing in a tripod nearby.  In a few precise motions she removed the foil wrapper and popped the cork of the bottle, then poured some champagne into Tuvok's glass before filling her own and passing the bottle on to Chakotay.  "We're each going to make a toast," she explained as the bottle was relayed around the table.  "I'm going to save mine for last, so…who wants to go first?"

            Paris got a mischievous look in his eye.  "How about you, Harry?"

            Kim was somewhat alarmed at the suggestion – he wasn't much of a public speaker, and he had counted on having some time to come up with a good speech.  He shook his head and lifted his hands defensively.  "No, I…I couldn't."

            "Oh, come _on,_ Harry," B'Elanna insisted.  "You're the one who just got a promotion, after all."

            "And what does _that_ have to do with it?" he countered defensively.  From the looks he was getting from the others at the table, it was obvious that this notion had gone beyond 'flippant suggestion' territory.

            "Since we have just learned of your promotion, this event can serve as a celebration of that as well.  Therefore, Lieutenant Torres is correct in saying that your good fortune entitles you to make the first speech of the evening," Tuvok supplied.  His tone caused Kim to reflect, not for the first time, upon the inaccuracy of the popularly-held belief that Vulcans lacked a sense of humor.  They _did_ have one – a very dry, this-close-to-sadistic one.

            Kim realized that he wasn't going to get out of this.  Janeway was almost certainly going to make the same request of him, and he wouldn't be able to protest.  He decided that he might as well give in.

            "All right," he conceded, "I'll make the first toast.  Just give me a minute to come up with a good one."  Kim paused for what seemed to him like a very long time, trying to decide exactly what he had to say and how he was going to say it.  After everything that had happened during the past month, getting all his thoughts in order on such short notice was quite a feat.  But he managed it.

            Once he had planned his speech (more or less), Kim stood up from his chair.  "I'm not going to talk about the present.  That isn't what we're celebrating here," he began.  "What we're celebrating is the past seven years.  We accomplished a lot – we got by on limited resources, we made discoveries, we helped people, and we somehow managed to beat the odds every time."  There were solemn nods from everyone around the table.  So far, so good.

            "But I think the most important thing is that somewhere along the way, we stopped being Starfleet, Maquis, hologram, Borg -  and became _Voyager_'s crew.  And that's what we're really here for."  He raised his champagne glass.  "To our most important achievement: friendship."

            There was a scraping of chairs on the floor as their occupants stood up, a series of _clinks_ as six glasses came together near the center of the table, and a chorus of voices saying the words "_To friendship_."


End file.
